The Suspended Target

I stepped onto the mist-slick flagstones of the lower training colonnade to test my morning thrust. Suspended from an overhead stone lintel by braided vine was a thick, hollow section of wild bamboo, hanging stationary in the calm jungle air. I took a balanced martial stance, boots locked into the carved stone grooves. Drawing my silver trident back to my shoulder, I leveled my gaze squarely at the target's center. With one sharp, disciplined exhalation, I lunged forward. The central prong drove cleanly through the hollow bore, checking its momentum a hair's breadth from the rear stonework without shaking the suspension cord. True precision demands zero wasted force.